On Friday night, at 11:30, I lit a prayer candle and prayed to the spirit world. I asked Easter Lily Fryer, a beloved, baby-nurse to help me. She was a loving black woman who had cared for my babies years ago while I was at work. She succumbed to breast cancer some fifteen years ago. I fervently pleaded with this life-long devout Christian to send me Jesus, the Christ. I reminded her that she had known about Christ all her life as a Christian. I had only recently accepted his spiritual possibility, on faith, and only in recent years — by virtue of the power of his name to dispel unseen evil ones. But that’s another story.
The following Sunday afternoon was Easter Sunday. As the sun set in baffled light through the maple trees in the late afternoon, a song rang in my head. Leaving my house, through the back door, I felt strangely compelled to sit on my front steps. This is something I never do. At first. I couldn’t place a song that I began to hear. It echoed in my mind. A Christmas tune? A Christmas song in April? It was the Christmas carol “Oh come all ye faithful” repeated over and over in my mind.
Four or five feet up in the air above the front garden suddenly appeared an undeniable figure of a man in dazzling light. A man’s figure floating in light! I couldn’t shake it. Aware that it might mean something psychically, I frowned into the light, puzzled. A tidal wave of encompassing warmth washed over me. Love, peace, and serenity overwhelmed me. Bliss radiated from this figure of light
Later, I recalled my previous special request, and remembered that it was, indeed, Easter Sunday. I recalled my plea to Easter Lily to assist me. I had heard the song about Christ, had seen the figure of light, and had experienced bliss and rapture. I had observed what I realized later was the Christ-light.
Since then I care little for any didactic about Jesus the man. I hum that song when I need reminding of the miracle sighting that I apparently had.
A tapping, delicately, on my back. I am sitting up on a table, feeling gentle taps on my back, watching a series of images; myriad tables receding into infinity, like two mirrors facing each other.
Farmers milking cows; on each table, a person is sitting up and examined by a small, slim, white, intent, fragile, large eyed creature. Their fingers probe lightly, gently, purposely, like playing a piano.
They are milking Chakras or Kundalini nerve centers, seven along each person’s spine. Their touches stimulate hidden DNA sequences as well as retrieve and store data and information along the length of the spinal chord, along a library of nerves
Like ants milking aphids they spend careful time and effort, gently, delicately, fingering each spine in a long sequence of tables, like marionettes playing human harpsichords.
These manipulations of spinal nerves initiate secret, as yet unbidden DNA sequences, which dangerously age and disease and trouble the somatic body and mind of an abducted. After an incident my finger and toe nails have to be trimmed twice every day; early sequences causes acceleration of aging and growth of certain cells. There are horrible psychic and emotional results from activation of these spinal sequences too quickly as well. Inter dimensional leaking occurs; one senses other worldly creatures and flirts with the beast of madness, itself.
What is subtly being programmed, stored and retrieved In our spinal chords? We are Manchurian candidates of stellar proportions.
Inter dimensional bleeding through into our dimension? Pranks predominate. Objects disappear to return days later in strange places. I entered the back of the house, passed by enormous four foot wide, four foot tall flower pots, each weighing as much as a man, blooming red with tropical ten foot tall cannas plants.
I opened the back door and entered the vestibule into the kitchen; I could not take another step. Glancing backward over my shoulder, I saw that both pots were turned over, the enormous elephant ear-like leaves sprawled to the ground, in a fraction of a second. The despair and confusion and poltergeist shock was so profound, that I stopped and prayed aloud for a spiritual sign.
“God, if there is a spirit world and it is real, and I can ask for protection, send me a sign: God, send me a white bird, up close and personal, in my face, on my window, as a sign”.
I put my whole heart and soul and angst into this prayer and minutes later, busy else where, I forgot it, as it promptly receded into the recesses of my mind.
The next day, on route to work, following the same path I always drive, I made a right turn and over the street of cars I saw a cloud of some one hundred gulls, hovering, wheeling, circling overhead as if attracted by garbage or dumpsites, although none was in evidence. As I glanced up at the raucous flock, one white gull swerved to within an inch of my windshield, glossing passed and made eye contact with me. It lasted maybe two seconds.
Preoccupied with driving and having totally forgotten my fervent spiritual request from the night before, I drove on, momentarily startled, but dully unaware of it’s significance.
After a strenuous day at work I returned home, lit a prayer candle and began to voice again my special request for a sign when I remembered the morning gull. I HAD asked for a white bird on my window, up close and personal. Had I been given that sign the very next morning? I decided to be skeptical but not cynical. If I saw any gulls in the area anywhere while in transit on the way to work for the next two weeks I would know it was a coincidence or a quirk of fate not a sign that I asked for. Why was the black eye of that bird, which whizzed passed so fast, so fixed in my mind?
For two weeks, each day, I scanned the horizon and landscape for a sign of gulls hovering, as I believed a flock so large would certainly reappear somewhere. I never saw one bird. I decided I had been given a wonderful sign and it has given me the courage and the confidence to feel protected in this fight against the unseen harassing entities.
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